


A Matter of Timing

by DarkestTimelines



Series: MCU Kink Bingo 2020 [4]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Edging, Fantasizing, Gentle Dom, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22415515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkestTimelines/pseuds/DarkestTimelines
Summary: Foggy prepares his coffee slowly, measuring out his sugar in half-spoonfuls and swirling the liquid in lazy figure eights. Usually, Matt makes their coffee while Foggy handles breakfast.But this isn’t their usual morning. Today, Matt exists only to please Foggy.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Series: MCU Kink Bingo 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594906
Comments: 3
Kudos: 106
Collections: MCU Kink Bingo Round 4





	A Matter of Timing

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic with a few different squares in mind before I shrugged and decided to make this my "Free Square" fill instead. 
> 
> As always, I hope you all enjoy!

Matt can hear the high-pitched chirping of Foggy’s alarm going off, followed by the sounds of Foggy grumbling awake.

A few minutes pass as Matt centers himself on Foggy’s sensations. The roar of Foggy taking his morning leak. The minty tang of toothpaste as Foggy brushes his teeth. And then, finally, the gentle vibrations under his feet as Foggy pads into the kitchen where Matt’s waiting for him.

Matt’s been up for about an hour but his day is only just starting.

Foggy says nothing as he sets about pouring himself a cup of coffee, close enough that Matt can feel the heat coming off of Foggy’s arm, that the rich, earthy notes of his drink blend with the smell of sex still clinging to Foggy's skin. So close that Matt would just have to twist a little and his face would be tucked into the safe warmth of Foggy's neck.

But instead, Matt keeps his head down, keeps to the position Foggy likes to see in the mornings. The one he says shows off all of his favorite parts of Matt’s body. Hands clasped behind his back so his chest is pushed out, pecs flexed and nipples already hard - ready to be pinched and teased. Feet more than shoulder width apart, so his thick thighs bulge from the strain and his heavy balls hang untouched. And jutting up toward the ceiling is his cock, massive and throbbing between his legs, needy in Foggy’s presence.

Foggy prepares his coffee slowly, measuring out his sugar in half-spoonfuls and swirling the liquid in lazy figure eights. Usually, Matt makes their coffee while Foggy handles breakfast.

But this isn’t their usual morning. Today, Matt exists only to please Foggy.

Foggy finally takes a sip, swirling the mouthful around before he swallows. He’s used too much sugar, Matt can tell from the disdainful tut that Foggy lets out. But Matt hasn’t been addressed yet, so he stays quiet. Focuses on keeping his muscles flexed and his cock hard so that he’s ready when Foggy decides that he wants to play with him.

The sun fills the room as Foggy savors his coffee, eventually dappling across Matt’s body. The summer air starts to thicken, like an oven coming to temperature, and Matt can feel the drops of sweat sliding down his neck, trailing over his chest and down the cut of his abs.

Lost in a meditative fugue, Matt jumps slightly when Foggy suddenly drops his mug in the sink, the ceramic clattering noisily against the metal. And then Foggy’s focus is finally, _mercifully,_ on him.

Foggy’s body goes warm as he looks Matt over, cock filling out promisingly in boxers that hang low on his hips. _His_ boxers, Matt realizes with irrational smugness, the pair he’d been wearing the night before. Or rather, the pair he’d been wearing before Foggy decided that Matt needed to be fingered until he shuddered apart across their sheets.

The fact that Foggy’s in his clothes fills him with a possessive kind of joy. Wrapped up soft in something that smells so heavily of Matt, Foggy feels _his,_ _all his_ , and the thought makes him giddy.

Until Foggy clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“You’re going soft, Matty. Do you want a little help?”

Matt nods, surprised out his thoughts by the realization that his cock has started to dip.

With an appreciative hum, Foggy’s hand curves around his hips, thumbs tracing his Adonis belt, teasingly close to his flagging erection. He rests his forehead against Matt’s, just shy of a kiss, breath tickling enticingly at Matt’s lips.

And honestly, that’s all the stimulation Matt needs, hips pushing embarrassingly into thin air as his cock twitches awake again. Matt’s imagination calls up his go-to fantasies, the ones he uses on the rare occasions that he has permission to jerk off, and they run through his mind in rapid, almost nonsensical flashes.

Foggy catching Matt trying to get off in their office, naked and hard as a rock, and punishing him by making him jerk off in front of the window. Foggy dragging Matt into a noisy street in nothing but a collar and fucking him senseless in front of a crowd of jeering strangers. Foggy tying Matt to a bench in the park so that a parade of men could come and take turns with his body, pawing at his stacked build, fingering at his needy hole, slapping at his huge shaft. 

Soon, Matt’s cock is bobbing against Foggy’s hip, flushed and sensitive against soft fabric. He risks grinding slightly into the sensation, biting his lip to keep down a whine as he does.

“Don’t think I didn’t feel that.” Foggy’s voice is light, but Matt’s face pricks with heat. “Seems like you wanna play puppy today.”

This time, Matt doesn’t bother holding back his whine.

“Start with the recliner.” Foggy presses a teasing kiss to the corner of Matt’s mouth. “And don’t bother keeping quiet.”

Matt shivers when Foggy pulls away, air ghosting across his sweaty skin. He makes his way over slowly, tracking as Foggy grabs his phone from their bedroom. By the time Foggy’s settled on the sofa, swiping through the notifications on his phone, Matt’s straddling the recliner’s arm, bent at the waist so his cock is resting against the corduroy upholstery.

“Go ahead, Matty.” Foggy’s voice is distracted, thumb thudding against the screen. But Matt can hear the excited trill in his heartbeat, the way he’s shifting so his boxers aren’t stretched tight over his erection.

Egged one by the arousal in the air, Matt starts to rut against the length of the arm, balls dragging on each thrust. The rough cloth drags against his sensitive skin, and Matt grunts, thighs trembling as the sensation quickly threatens to overwhelm him. If Matt comes, he knows Foggy will push his face into it, will make him lap up the evidence of his pleasure as he thinks about how best to punish Matt. 

Honestly, it’s a temptation Matt leans into more often than he wants to admit, shamefully eager to make himself the focus of Foggy’s more sadistic musings. Goading Foggy so he goes rough, so that he takes a tighter hold of the metaphorical, and often literal, leash around Matt’s throat. So that, by the end of the night, Matt can’t think beyond the sensations running across his body. 

The delicious ache of being dragged over Foggy’s knee and spanked until he’s writhing with each blow. The hot shame of having to listen while Foggy rides a dildo only inches from Matt’s face. The frustrated pleasure of being milked, of Foggy ruining orgasm after orgasm, until Matt’s sobbing, cock in _agony_ , still desperate to come but too sensitive to be touched.

If Matt just went a little faster, pushed a little harder, he’d be _right there_ … But today, that isn't what he wants. Not when Foggy's hand is dipping below his waistband to fist lazily at his cock, clearly taken in by his performance.

And not when all Matt really wants today is for Foggy to call him a good boy.

“You like acting like my horny puppy?” Foggy cuts through Matt’s musings, giving him something to focus on beyond the ache between his legs. Grunting deep in his throat as he grinds his hips down, cock chafing against the recliner but refusing to stop, Matt _feels_ like a dog in heat. 

"Have you met Cameron? The new guy across the hall?" The question catches Matt off guard, breaks his rhythm until Foggy makes an impatient noise. "Just FYI, he asked about the noises, so I had to tell him that we pet sit a dog named Mikey."

Matt feels his face go hot as Foggy lets out a breathy chuckle. "We talked for awhile about how Mikey's owners should get him fixed, so that he’s easier to train. And about how I can keep him caged or tied up the next time he wants to rut. Just as long as he has some toys to keep him busy."

Matt shivers at the hidden promises in Foggy's words. How Matt might be more pliant if he spent some time in chastity, how eagerly he’d obey if Foggy kept Matt’s cock useless and soft in a tiny plastic cage. How Foggy might punish him next time by tying him down to the bed with nothing other than a few of his favorite toys. Maybe some clamps at his nipples and clothespins in neat little rows down his torso. Or a dildo stretching his mouth wide and a vibrator buzzing in his ass.

Maybe all of the above.

Matt pauses for a moment, tries to collect himself as his cock throbs. Each pump of his hips is getting harder. His balls and the underside of his cock feel raw, the painful shock of arousal fighting with the maddening grind against the now-soaked fabric.

But Matt leans down closer to the arm of the recliner, rutting in faster, harder thrusts. Because he can hear the slide of satin against Foggy's legs as he strips naked. And he can smell how much Foggy is leaking, cock so soaked with precome that Matt's mouth waters with the urge to get his mouth around it.

And _fuck_ , all Matt wants to do is come. But Foggy _loves_ to watch him edge, finding new ways for Matt drive himself wild for Foggy's amusement. Having Matt slot himself between Foggy's lubed-up thighs before they get out of bed. Having him slide against the soapy tile wall during their morning shower. Having him slip on a jockstrap and making him grope himself through the cup, until the fabric is soaked through and clinging uncomfortably to Matt for the rest of the day.

"The bed next. All fours."

Matt winces at the command, breathing through another _almost_ orgasm. Letting out a groan as he climbs off of the recliner on shaky legs, Matt gingerly makes his way to lay on their bed. And then, hugging his pillow to his body, Matt balances on his knees and leans forward, until he's doubled over his pillow and resting his forehead against their sheets. So that when Matt starts to hump his pillow, he can feel his ass bounce with each movement.

Matt hates ( _loves)_ edging himself on their bed. Everything about it is so much better, and that makes it _so much worse_. The position is gentle on his body, mattress soft and supporting under him. The slide of his cock against his silky pillowcase is so much more slick, effortless and pure pleasure, no pain to center himself like the rough grind against the recliner. The sheets around him are still filthy from last night, so Matt's face is pressed tight against the dizzying, heady scent of come and lube.

Everything is so much better. Except Foggy doesn't join him. Not at first, at least. 

Foggy's still on their sofa in the living room, pumping his cock in these slow, lazy strokes while he swipes at his phone. He's close enough that Matt can still hear the aroused stutter in his breath, that Foggy can still hear Matt groaning with each thrust. But Foggy's attention is on his phone, and that humiliation has Matt flushed down to his chest.

It makes Matt feel like he’s failed somehow. Like Foggy looked at Matt, took in his pink face and his sweaty body and his throbbing cock, and decided that he'd rather get himself off than let Matt touch him. And desperate and horny, all Matt could think to do was rut against his pillow, to lose himself in the slippery drag of silk against the head of his cock.

He feels filthy doing this. Deviant. Mortified.

And so _utterly_ aroused.

Matt's thighs quiver around the pillow trapped underneath him, silk cold where it's gone damp with Matt's sweat. He twists just a little to the right and cries out as the fabric catches against the side of his cock, gliding against neglected, untouched skin. His hips snap into the feeling, balls drawing up as the friction threatens to overtake him. Matt clenches his jaw in an effort to hold back, fighting to keep himself from coming even as he continues to push his body closer and closer to the edge.

"You can stop, baby."

So deep in concentration, Matt hadn't noticed Foggy's approach. But suddenly, Foggy's _right there_ , his body furnace hot next to Matt's, phone thankfully left somewhere else. Matt lets out a piteous whine, high and desperate, as he stops rutting.

There's frustration building in his chest, wetness at the corners of his eyes, and Matt screws his eyes shut, embarrassed as a few tears spill out. He can take more than this, Matt knows he can take more. But he wants to come. And he's hot and sweaty and tired. And he just wants… something, anything from Foggy-

"Shhhhh, Matty. Just breathe for me."

Foggy's hand cups his cheek, thumbs away the errant tears with a gentle hand and it's _everything_ to Matt. He presses into Foggy's palm, feeling tethered by the contact.

"I know you're almost at your limit," Foggy soothes, as Matt melts into his touch. "So I’m going to give you a choice here, okay?"

Mollified, Matt nods, humming when Foggy's hand tries to smooth down his mussed hair.

"Do you want me in your mouth or in your ass when you come?"

"Mouth. Mouth, _please_." Matt's answer is instant, no thought needed when he can feel the searing heat from Foggy's erection, when he's leaked so much that Matt can taste him in the air. 

With that decided, Foggy shifts closer, so his knees are bracketing Matt's face. The air between Foggy’s legs is overwhelmingly humid and all Matt can smell is _Foggy._ And then, painfully slowly, he guides himself into Matt's eager mouth. 

Matt can't help the moan that escapes him around Foggy's cock. Foggy tastes like salt and musk, smooth and hot and heavy against his tongue. He's overwhelmed by how much he wants to feel Foggy lose himself, how desperately he wants the flood of come down his throat.

"There's my good boy," Foggy purrs, and Matt shivers at the words he's been aching to hear.

Matt rocks against his pillow, matching pace as Foggy thrusts into his mouth, balls brushing against Matt’s chin. His cheeks hollow as he greedily sucks at Foggy, loud slurps and groans cut off each time Foggy shoves in. 

Soon, Foggy’s pulsing in his mouth, salty, bitter taste thick and decadent against his palate. Hips rabbit-quick and sharp, Matt savors the feeling as he _finally_ shakes apart and lets himself come.

Almost as much as he savors the praise falling from Foggy’s lips.

“G-good boy, Matty. _Fuck_. Such a good boy.”


End file.
